


i found a martyr in my bed tonight

by WhatsATerrarium



Series: some nights [1]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Pillow Fights, References to Period-Typical Sexism, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Self-Indulgent, Servants, Sneaking Around, Tickle Fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: In which Joan is in line to become queen in a patriarchal monarchy, Owen is an undervalued castle servant, and they both have so much potential.It's a shame they're the only ones capable of seeing it.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Series: some nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708873
Kudos: 11





	1. when i see stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrayolaRainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayolaRainbow/gifts).



> Hi, folks! Welcome to the most self indulgent TBS fic I've ever written! And this is coming from the girl who wrote the brightgreen vampire AU.
> 
> Title and chapter titles are from "Some Nights" by fun.
> 
> Gifted to E for winning at the title guessing game.

She closes the door behind them, and her previously scowling face turns to a smile.

“You know,” Owen begins, wearing a grin to match Joan’s, “you didn’t have to be so mean to me to fool them.”

The routine is one they’ve been through a thousand times. She’d find him wandering the castle or doing some menial chore. She’d make some excuse, some reason to need a second pair of hands and tell it bitterly to whoever was listening. Then she’d whisk him away to her bedroom and lock the rest of the world out for as long as they could afford to be missing.

”I was testing a theory,” the princess replies nonchalantly, stepping off to the side to already begin removing the many restrictive layers of her dress.

“And what might that be?”

“I think you like me when I’m mean.”

“Oh?” He smiles, sitting down on the bed and turning to watch her. “And what would you say was the result of this test?”

“Well, you certainly seemed eager to follow me.”   
  
“I’m always eager.”

“More than usual,” Joan responds. “And you know, you could help a little instead of just sitting there watching,” she adds with a scornful tone. He stands quickly, moving to help her undress, his heart soaring as he’s filled with some strange form of excitement, and- okay, he really should have seen that one coming.

“Told you,” she smirks.

Okay, so he might find her bossiness a bit endearing.

“Well forgive me for wanting to please you,” he responds, mockingly defensive.

“You forget...” she hums, turning to face him. He takes a step closer and she catches his face gently in her hands, pushing up onto her tiptoes and pulling him down a little to kiss him. “I like pleasing you too.”   
  
“Maybe I should start being mean then,” he suggests playfully with an air of fake confidence, not fooling either of them for a second.

“I’d be intrigued to see you try.”

“Maybe I will.” He steps behind her, reaching to help with her corset, but she smacks his hand away quickly.

“Remember what happened last time?”   
  
“I’ve learned my lesson,” he responds, defensive for real this time. Sure, while he’s still not entirely sure how one is supposed to remove a corset… he definitely now knows what  _ not _ to do.

“Last I checked you haven’t been spending your free time practicing unlacing corsets.”

“How would you know?”   
  
“Because I know  _ exactly  _ how you’ve been spending your free time, Owen,” she reminds him, her voice betraying how giddy she is at the memories. Every secret date they’d been on, every kiss they’d stolen, every night he’d snuck into her room, sometimes not even to do anything besides hold each other and whisper their dreams to each other in the dark.

_ She loves him. _

It’s so easy to forget sometimes, with how little he gets to see her. How rushed their time together always feels. How fearful they are at practically every second of the day of being found out. But she does love him, and the reminder gives him an unmatched sense of pride, because she’s  _ incredible _ . She’s passionate, she’s hard working, she’s smart. She’s everything that no one else in the world appreciates her for, but that he never stops appreciating.

She loves him, and in an ideal world he would wear that fact like a badge of honour. Instead, he keeps it hidden, like something shameful.

He smiles as she turns to face him, letting her final layers fall away and somehow leaving  _ him _ feeling a bit embarrassed, after all, he’s definitely overdressed now by comparison.

“You know,” he smirks as he at least makes an  _ attempt _ to refrain from touching her, but finds himself wrapping an arm around her waist anyways. “For someone who called me in here to ‘help you tidy your room’ it looks awfully clean.”

“Does it?” she questions, playing along with a mischievous tone in her voice. “Because I might have a few ways to fix that.”   
  
“Oh?”   
  
She pushes him backwards. Not  _ too _ forcefully, but hard enough for him to lose his balance and go falling backwards onto her already perfectly made bed. He sits up from where he’d landed in order to situate himself as she calmly climbs onto the bed beside him. He smiles back at her as she leans over him. She presses her lips to his and he responds by reaching up to run his fingers through her hair.   
  
And then she pulls away suddenly and he feels something hit him swiftly on the top of his head. She’s grinning and holding one of the pillows that had been resting at the top of the bed next to him only seconds ago. Well, that is one way to make a mess of the bed, though not exactly the one he was expecting.

He reaches for another pillow and manages to hold it up just in time to block her next attack. He sits up and takes a swing at her, which she attempts unsuccessfully to block. And soon, they’re both swinging pillows blindly and taking just as many blows as they’re dealing.

The sound of their giggling fills the room, until his laughter grows a bit too loud and she shushes him.

“What?” he smiles innocently, “am I being too loud?”

“Yes,” she says, still beaming.

“I don’t know, your highness.” He makes a show of furrowing his brow seriously. “...It seems like you’re the one laughing a bit too much.”   
  
“No I’m n-”   


Before she can argue he’s already moving towards her and tickling her and the beautiful sound of her laughter is ringing in his ears. “Owen,” she protests through the laughing fits. He wraps an arm around her and pins her down, continuing to tickle her until she appears to be out of breath. And it’s not until he stops to take a breather as well that he realizes he’d been laughing with her.

He glances down at her, and his face softens. She’s grinning at him in the way that once again reminds him that  _ she loves him _ , and in turn, he’s overwhelmed with his love for her. And that powerful surge of love quickly funnels itself into a much more urgent  _ desire _ .

He sees the same urgent look flicker in her eyes and he leans down to kiss her, this kiss not ending in them breaking apart to maul each other with pillows, but in her reaching to help him take off his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The corset thing may or may not be inspired by a production of The Mystery Of Edwin Drood in which I, an overeager stage hand, was asked by the lead actress who I was incredibly gay for at the time if I knew how to help her out of her corset after the show.
> 
> Please, dear reader, do not assume you know how to do things. You will be banned from ever helping with costumes again.


	2. that's all they are

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Joan asks as she situates him in her arms.

“Of what?” he responds, craning his neck slightly to be able to see her face better.

“Of your job. Just…. doing whatever people like my parents tell you to, never getting to… you know, say or do anything.”

“Why would I?” The response is almost automatic. He’s not one to dwell on fantasies. At least, he doesn't want to be. He used to be, but lately he’s been trying to come to terms with things. And he’s found that fantasizing about what could be, could have been, should be, or should have been is… well it’s not exactly conducive to acceptance. No matter how often he ends up doing it anyways.

Fantasies only hurt more in the long run.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Because I know you’re smart. I know you have ideas. You’re wasted as a servant.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to assume that attempting to worm my way into anything higher on the chain of command would make me a laughingstock.”

“Well,” she sighs, reaching her hand down to casually caress his cheek, “when I’m queen, things are going to be different.”

“How so?” he asks, still willing to let her entertain her fantasies.

“Positions within the royal court won’t be hereditary, they’ll be based on merit and skill.” She exhales calmly, letting her hand fall back slightly to stroke his hair. “I won’t be as entirely  _ corrupt  _ as my parents are in some regards.” The disdain slips through in her voice for only a second but she continues running her hand through his hair and listing. “And I’ll give  _ you _ whatever position in the court you want.”

“Hmmm,” he hums jokingly, “how about the king?”

She snorts a little. “There are some things I’ll never be able to get away with.” Her tone is playful and uncaring, but he can see the hint of sadness in her eyes as she says it.

“It’s a shame,” he responds, now regretting having said anything. Even though he’s matching her playful tone, he knows the mood has been darkened. “You’d have been an excellent person to marry.”

This is why fantasy hurts. The lies they tell themselves only serve as a reminder of what they can never have. He wonders absentmindedly why they keep lying. God knows they both have enough experience in being hurt after the high to know better.

“Well, you’re not terrible yourself.” She lets out a loud sigh. “But, within the next year… I’ll get married to some boring noble from a neighboring kingdom and therefore be eligible in my parents’ eyes to claim the throne. I’ll be able to reform the kingdom for the better, and you…”

He glances up at her, and he can see the gears in her brain turning. She’s trying to decide between allowing the sobering reality in the room to stay present and allowing them both to relax, to laugh.

“...and you’ll be the world’s most  _ utilized  _ consort,” she lets out a laugh that he can tell is half-forced.

He chuckles and nuzzles his head closer to her chest, and he feels her wrap her arms around him tightly.

She made the right call. Right now, he’d rather joke than continue to think about the inevitable. His addiction to fantasy is as strong as his addiction to her, maybe because at this point, the two are synonymous.

Because even the scenario she’d presented is still an idealized version of what their future holds. Even that is an unattainable fantasy. She won’t have enough agency to put into effect the changes she wants to, and whoever her parents arrange for her to be married to won’t want to change a thing. He hopes she’ll be able to find love with whoever that is, but he knows it’s not likely, just as unlikely as it would be for him to find someone else.

There will be no more secret dates, no more stealing kisses, no more sneaking into her room, and no more dreams to whisper.

There can’t be. He’d face losing his job at best and an untried execution at the order of the new king at worst. And while he’s willing to risk his job or his life, she’s made it clear in their past arguments that she isn’t.

“I love you,” she breathes carefully, and he can sense the uncertainty in her voice. She’s not uncertain of what she’s saying, she’s uncertain of what he can tell is coming next. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he breathes quietly. “I love you too,” he closes his eyes and tries to pretend that they’ve got the rest of their lives to say that to each other. But that’s just another fantasy.

One he’s going to get hurt by eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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